To Kill A Mockingboy
by kama-kona
Summary: Who are you? "I am the Apostle of Youth. I am the Prince of Adolescence. The Master of Boyhood and Girlhood. I am the Wind that leads children to my storm. The Sea that drowns them to my depths. I am the Slayer of Old Age," I am Peter Pan.


_Poor dear._

_Terrible thing that happened._

_How tragic._

'How tragic my bloody _ass_.' Thought Wendy Darling. She adjusted her black blouse with vexation. They disgusted her. Posh socialites who busy themselves in gossip and fancy dancy upper-class materialism. They only showed up because her family just happened to be well off. Wendy scratched at the ruffles on her collar as she heard two people whispering behind her. Not exactly 'whispering', since it was loud enough for her to hear, but she recognized the voice as another Prada-wearing harpy.

"I heard they left nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Zip. Nada."

"Awful glad I'm not them."

_laughter_

"Old man went broke. Too ashamed to tell the family."

"I pity the girl."

"Oh yes, good heavens. I'd be mortified if I had such a- _tainted_, reputation."

"Wouldn't anyone."

"It's a crying shame she'll probably have to work the streets for money once they kick her out. Lucky she got a little bit from her mother, so I'm sure she'd make a _fine_ escort."

_More laughter_

"So much potential."

"Oh yes, a pity."

_Poor dear._

_Terrible thing that happened._

_How tragic.  


* * *

_

Wendy Moira Angela Darling was all things but pretentious. So instead of making a big show and unleashing her rage on the two moronic ninnies, she merely sought satisfaction by smiling and saying: "Those are lovely wrinkles you're sporting. They must be all the rage now, as well as the upper lip hair you're donning. Very chic. You two would make marvelous trollops." And with that, turned her heel leaving them with their pride smacked around and mouths wide open. No, not pretentious at all.

Wendy scratched at her collar again. The damn thing was getting on her nerves. She left the funeral before they even started the ceremony. There was no reason for her to be there anyway. She had already sent her condolences to mother, father, John and Michael previous to the burial. She cried for a good two hours; no more, no less. When the police finally came, they had been greeted by the sight of four cold, lifeless bodies lying on a red stained couch and a teenage girl covered in their blood with her head in her hands.

Homicide. Family stabbed to death. No suspects as of yet.

Aunt Mildred had always blamed her. 'Wendy, stop filling their heads with childish stories.' 'Wendy where are your manners? That is not proper conduct for a young lady." "Wendy, for God's sake grow up!" This was no exception. _Wendy, it should have been you._

She imagined Mildred looking for her right now. Tears streaming down, make-up smeared, screaming: "Have you seen my Wendy? She's so pretty, you could hardly miss her. Oh, the poor dear must be mourning somewhere. She has so much potential you know?" _Just like the rest of them._ And then she'd start bawling her eyes out all over again. She probably didn't even care anyway. No doubt her aunt was just down in the dumps because she was getting diddly-squat.

Wendy shivered. The London air bit at her face with an unfeeling bitterness. How badly she wanted to escape from this place. She halted at her front door and wasn't surprised to find her key didn't work. Wendy sighed. Time for Plan B. She started climbing the drainpipe. What many people didn't know was that Wendy was in good shape. In fact she would think herself as butch. She concealed it quite well among guests and friends with a vulnerable facade, but her family knew better. Of course, they were the only ones to witness Wendy have mud-pie eating contests and swimming races with her brothers.

Wendy reached the nursery window, and swung it open. She always left it unlocked. As she stepped over the ledge of the window she noticed something odd. Her shadow. The sky was murky and dark, and gloomy clouds hung glumly above her head. There was no sign of light anywhere. But she must have blinked or turned away, although to this day she was sure she hadn't, because one moment is was there and the next it was gone. Wendy shook it off, but there was something else that bothered her. Her shadow, didn't seem right. It didn't look like her.

_It didn't look like you! Good God Wendy, listen to yourself. Poppycock! _Wendy nodded to herself. "Yes Wendy, I do suppose you're right." _I know Wendy, now stop talking to yourself._

Wendy paced around the spacious room. Toys were strewn all over the faded carpet and the bedsheets were disheveled. Everything was left the same from that night. Wendy slowly opened the door, and took a peek downstairs. The rest of the house on the other hand had been evidently disrupted. The furniture was cleaned, all of father's trinkets had been dusted and the couch had been newly upholstered. It was abnormally neat. Wendy quietly crept back into her room. She pretended her parents had gone to No. 27 and put away all the toys and made all the beds. She pretended John and Michael were asleep and tucked each of them in and kissed their foreheads. She pretended Nana was outside watching vigilantly from her post, instead of six feet under rose bush. And she lit the night lights for they were the eyes a mother leaves behind to guard her children. This comforted her, and so she settled to undress. Thankful to be rid of the black, itchy garb, she slipped into a silk blue gown. But every so often while changing, Wendy glanced behind her shoulder, as though she was being watched. There was nothing of course, and so she resumed. She then drifted towards her bed and continued to stare at a canopy of blankets.

"Goodnight John."

_Silence._

"Goodnight Michael."

_Silence._

And as a afterthought.

"Goodnight shadow."

_"Goodnight."  
_

_

* * *

_Wendy Darling was many things. Except loony. No, Wendy Darling was definitely not loony when she fell out of bed and looked up to see a silhouette hovering above her windowsill. Yes. Hovering. It was like something out of a movie. The frigid breeze had suddenly stopped and been replaced with a still, almost surreal calmness. The clouds had cleared to reveal a ghostly full moon which cast an eerie glow on the figure's face. All Wendy could do was stare in awe, entranced.

It was a boy. Or something that resembled a boy. He was a breathtaking thing, clad in skeleton leaves and bear skin shorts. A tangle of wiry copper hair stuck out wildly like an inferno on top his head and a debris of leaves embedded the small tufts. His body was faintly tanned and decorated with scuffs and bruises, normal for a young adolescent. There was an air of nimbleness surrounding him and a way of positioning himself that evoked a hidden strength underneath his lean frame. And his eyes. No matter how hard Wendy stared at his eyes, and she was doing a good deal of rubber-necking, she couldn't tell what color they were. But they were gorgeous eyes and they stood out on his babyish features. They twinkled with a zestful mirth and a sense of genuine amusement that Wendy had rarely seen before. It was like being watched by a child. She found herself walking towards him. It seemed like the most natural thing to do. At the advancement, he quirked an impish grin and revealed an array of milky white baby teeth. He could be no older than herself, thought Wendy. But there he was, gnashing the little pearls at her.

"Who are you?"

_"I am the Apostle of Youth. I am the Prince of Adolescence. The Master of Boyhood and Girlhood. I am the Wind that leads children into my storm. The Sea that drowns them into my depths. I am the Slayer of Old Age," _He smiled.

_"I am Peter Pan."_


End file.
